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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160453">Lucky Penny</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainpebbles/pseuds/Rainpebbles'>Rainpebbles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Meeting, Angst, Emotionally Damaged James, Knowing me there will probably be cliffhangers, M/M, Mole People Q, Protective James Bond, Q Has a Cat, Sassy Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:29:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainpebbles/pseuds/Rainpebbles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of M and the many that came before her, James finds himself shutting out the world around him. He would have been perfectly fine staying that way if it weren't for some young scrap of a thing that came along and messed that all up by kicking in his knee. <br/>Emotions were messy things, and it seemed his new informant 'Q' was determined to make his life as messy as that crow's nest he called hair. Oddly enough, James isn't sure he minds it all that much.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond/Q</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rude Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was NOT planning on posting this for another week, but here I am with a spare hour so why not just toss this out there to get this fic rolling! </p>
<p>This is kind of an alternate Skyfall? Just another alternate way for our boys to meet up around the same timeframe as the movie. Hope you all enjoy!</p>
<p>And for the followers of my other stories, I'll be posting two chapters of the Zombie AU next week so see you then!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His coffee was cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as he’d like to blame the state of things on the small café and the somewhat frazzled waiter who was jumping around at least six tables, he knew it to be his own damn fault. He’d been nursing his cup like it held whiskey instead of some nameless black brew, lost in the same melancholy thoughts that alcohol usually brought out in him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally he wouldn’t expose his brooding upon the unsuspecting public, but he had been just about to crack open his next bottle of scotch when the new M had called and told him to meet the Quartermaster at the National Gallery by noon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damn the man too, for ruining his liquid breakfast before it even began. He hadn't even gotten proper time to wake up enough to register and contemplate his current distaste for his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was getting his own revenge in a way, sitting here getting his morning brood in while being fully aware he was quite late. Noon had come and gone over quarter of an hour ago, and yet James was not quite ready to go meet the aging Quartermaster. Not quite ready to be sent out with a gun and a command to some as of yet unknown country. Not quite ready to bed some soft body in the name of Queen and Country. Cold coffee aside, he was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been only one month since his M had been killed in the blast at Vauxhall, taking out a dozen other employees along with her. James had been in Cairo at the time, only finding out anything had happened at all from a single, special toned beep on his mobile warning him that HQ had been compromised. He’d been airlifted home later that day, only to be informed that she had been killed, and they were all under new management. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the only source of the explosion they could find was a gas leak. A fucking gas leak was what took out the most formidable employee MI6 had ever had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mallory wasn’t a bad M. He just wasn’t her. It was his greatest flaw in James’ opinion. That and the suspenders. James loved the classics, but only to a point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The necessary troops had been mobilized, searching out whispers of who had used the environmental controls of the building to wipe out their leadership. James was not among them though. Something about compassionate leave. Load of bollocks that was. They just didn’t want to see what kind of destruction he could produce if set loose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably why Alec had been sent out on some month long milk run of a mission immediately, seeing as the two of them together on a revenge tour would lead to quite the crater in the annual damage control budget. It was probably a smart move. Not that James liked it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, it had been one fucking month and they still hadn’t found the bloody bastard that did it. If anyone even <em>did</em> do it. Freak accidents happened after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mobile chirped in his pocket. No doubt somebody trying to remind him that he had an appointment to keep. So pushy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James sighed, not even bothering to check it. His mobile stayed tucked deep within his back pocket. He hoped his arse would crack the screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned back against the metal chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out over the street that led up to the gallery. It was late fall, just a fingers touch away from winter and all the people were bundled up against the chill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, now that he thought about it, he could blame the weather for the unfortunate state of his coffee. Could also blame himself for sitting outside in the first place. Why he chose to sit out here could be anyone’s guess. Maybe cold was the only thing he could feel anymore and he just wanted to feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So much had been lost in his life, taking all the warm and fuzzy feelings with it. His parents, Stacy, Vesper, and now M. Cold just seemed to be all he could acknowledge anymore. Cold was easy though. Cold meant numb, something he quite enjoyed being. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone chirped again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barely was able to suppress the sigh this time, instead choosing to purse his lips in distaste. At least that annoyance could be disguised as his attitude towards his damned coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t like he was just sitting here like a lump though. He was observing. There was plenty to observe on days like today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All around him were people and cars, especially since he chose to sit so close to the Gallery itself. Tourists mostly, going off of the multitude of languages that touched his ears. There was the weather, always a point of conversion. Boothroyd always loved to hear talk of the weather, seeing as he rarely emerged from the dungeons of MI6 to even know what season it was. Maybe James was gathering intel in that sense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe his observations and delayed presence at the café had more to do with the strange young man that had spent the better part of the last half hour terrorizing anyone who dared enter the Gallery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, that must be the reason. While strange people on the streets of London, or any big city for that matter, were nothing out of the ordinary, something about this man seemed more off than the usual brand of <em>off</em> he’d seen many times before. For one, he wasn't holding a cardboard sign around his neck with some sort of doomsday warning written on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James adjusted in his chair, cursing the cold metal against his arse as he did, moving to the left just enough to see more clearly around the lamp post to where the young man was skittishly trying to approach an elderly couple headed towards the Gallery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squinting his eyes, James could make out the words ‘maintenance’ and ‘closed’ on his chapped lips, but he was pointedly ignored and passed, much to his apparent frustration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was it frustration? The agitation would say so, but there was a degree of helplessness there too, something that James was all too well versed in picking up on people on a regular basis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking in the alarmingly slim frame, under the less than appealing coat, and topped off with overly long hair, James surmised that he was probably among the homeless community. The old and worn shoes with holes in the toes only further verified his guess. James screwed up his face as he watched the young man shove his reddened hands under his armpits, seeking warmth as he moved on to the next group moving towards the steps of the building.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy was probably alone in the world, otherwise he would have stood a better chance of having someplace to stay, especially now that it was so cold. Winter and it’s accompanying snow would fall on them soon enough. A dangerous and tragic position for anyone to be in, even more so when it was someone so young. What he was doing approaching all Gallery goers was beyond James though. He didn’t look to be peddling for money or food. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once again James watched as the group rebuffed the young man, as all the others had as well, and continued to enter the building at an even faster pace. Whether it was to avoid the cold or the boy, James couldn’t say. The curiosity was doing it’s best to kill him though, so he tossed some bills on the table, weighed down with his still half full cup, and started to make a circuit around the curious spectacle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before another couple was approaching the Gallery, arm and arm and already looking through a pamphlet as they walked across the street. James casually fell into step behind them, keeping a good five meters away and moving at a slow pace. He even took out his mobile for good measure, reading while walking a good way to disguise a slow step.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boys eyes widened as he saw the couple, and he quickly dashed over to them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Up this close, James could see he was more distraught than frustrated. His eyes were wide and earnest, posture speaking of nothing dangerous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“P-please. No guests today. The Gallery is closed for maintenance you see, and--” the boy stammered, twisting his fingers together nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of the men he approached was already shaking his head in an exasperated manner, “I know for a fact they are open, boy. The new exhibit opens today. See the pamphlet?” he waved it in front of the boys face in a condescending manner, “Go away, and leave us alone,” he growled out, pulling his more sympathetic spouse with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy gaped for a moment before running to catch up with them, even going so far to tug at the tails of the man’s coat, “Wait, no! I--I--My cat is missing, please help me find her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before James could even move, the boy had been shoved to the ground roughly, the older man whipping around and pushing him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get away from us!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man then grabbed his wife and sped them towards the Gallery, leaving the boy sitting on the frigid bricks, rubbing his wrist while letting his head hang low. He looked miserable and broken in so many ways. He tugged at one frayed sleeve, exposing a watch. Whatever he saw by noting it was almost half past noon, it made his expression crumple into one of pained sorrow. He ran trembling fingers through his tangled hair, tugging harshly on the ends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in years, James felt an emotion that he had long since though had evaporated from his soul. Compassion. He not only felt sympathy for the poor wretch of a thing, but he wanted to help of all things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it had to be now?!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t much he could do, not with Boothroyd pinging his phone yet again and an aversion to all things having to do with mental health. At least he could…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” he said gently, reaching out his leather gloved hand down to the fallen man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pair of wide green eyes snapped up at the voice, his mouth falling open as he took in James’ face. It took a few extra seconds to process the hand held in front of his face, but eventually he slid his hand into James’ and let himself be pulled up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even through his gloves, James could feel how cold the boy’s hands were. He could even pick up the small shivers that ran through the smaller body as their shoulders brushed. Now standing by his side, James couldn’t help but feel even worse as he took in the dark circles under his eyes, paired with the same stark pallor of the eternally overworked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright,” James asked after the boy seemed to get his bearings again, still staring at James like the Queen herself had just helped him up. He began cataloging the contents of his jacket, wondering if he should plop it onto those bony shoulders of his. Wouldn't do to accidentally give him an MI6 access badge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy shrugged a bit, “Yes, just landed hard on my wrist, but…,” he paused, the frantic look returning to his face as he looked back down at his watch. Somehow he managed to take on an even more alarming pallor, his breathing becoming erratic. He turned back to James, “You’re going to the Gallery to--No!” he screamed suddenly, startling James.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could even say anything, he felt a sock of sharp pain strike his leg. A crack was heard that sent him crumpling to the ground that he had just pulled the boy up from. He was on his back looking up at the sky before he realized that he had just been kicked in the knee. Hard. By that scrawny kid he just helped!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James growled, propping himself up on his arms and looking around for the little urchin to give him a piece of his once sympathetic mind, but all he saw was the flutter of a torn jacket around the corner before he was completely gone from sight. Just his luck that he'd be taken down by some random civilian that couldn't weigh more than a sack of potatoes, in the middle of London. Once the other Double O's heard of this, James would lose all sense of respect from them. Alec would probably piss his pants laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flopping back, he took a moment to stare up at the sky, wondering what sort of deity was currently laughing at him in that moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mobile chirped again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waited another minute before acknowledging the sound. This time he did pull it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, still sitting on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sender: Q</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Time: 12:29</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Message: Did you break your watch again?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>James sighed, sitting the rest of the way up and testing his leg a bit. The stabbing pain of a dislocated kneecap returned in an all too familiar throb. Fuck it all, that kind of injury would keep him off missions for at least a month. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This...this is why I shouldn’t feel emotions. Looks what happens,” James groused to himself, pulling up his texting app to send a response to Boothroyd. He noted at the top corner of his phone as the clock turned to 12:30, just as he started to type.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next second was almost surreal as the ground under him quaked, and the loud rumbling filled the air. James only had time to brace himself before the sound of the blast blew out from behind him, the shockwave sending all those left in the street crashing to the ground, cars screeching to a halt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James turned around to see the Gallery roof start to cave in, flames licking at the hung banners on the windows, people doubled over coughing as they ran out through the front entrance that was already collapsing in on itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bomb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Boothroyd.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was supposed to meet the old man in the center exhibit. There would have been no quick escape through there. None. Especially not for an old man with a limp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James’ heart sank as he realized that MI6 had just lost its second executive in a month. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No. No. Not another one.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the sound of sirens began to fill the air, James let himself lay back onto the frozen bricks, letting the cold seep into his bones. Numb. He needed to be numb…</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until hour later, when he was propped up on pillows in a medical bed, that he realized that the boy was the only reason that James was still alive. Being kicked by some scrap of a thing saved his bloody useless life. He wasn’t even sure if he was happy about that or not.</span>
</p>
<p>James sighed heavily, staring up at the starkly white ceiling. <br/><br/></p>
<p>
  <span>Moneypenny would never let him live this down.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hunting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>MI6 catches wind of James' little friend.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow, so happy that the first chapter was received well!!! Whole lotta mystery starting from the get go. Looking forward to posting again soon. This story the chapters are pumping out a lot faster than I thought they would (yay!). So much inspiration for this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was something of a habit lately to count the lines on M’s forehead, the numerical association between that and his frustration levels was a good indicator of just how serious a situation was. James had picked up on the giveaway within the first month of his time as the new head of MI6, noting how the number went down as the weeks went on and the proverbial fires were put out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Today was a level four. It hadn’t been that high since his early days, when the smoke still lingered in the air after the Vauxhall bombing. It just was another piece of evidence that James’ scale was immensely accurate, seeing as the reason for the four lines was another bomb, and another dead MI6 executive. Three lines appeared as if by magic anytime anyone so much as mentioned the rumored merger between MI5 and MI6, although the very thought to anyone at MI6 was enough to require at minimum a grimace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it was a bit callous of James to sit nonchalantly in the chair at the end of M’s desk when they had just lost another integral part of their organization. Another of the old guard fallen, in such a short amount of time, but James was far too content keeping himself wrapped in his blanket of numbness. Hurt less, and it helped keep him uncompromised by emotions. You wouldn’t see any lines on his forehead giving away his stress. Tells got you killed. Emotions made you weak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure he isn’t the threat, Bond? I mean, he was there,” Tanner said as he fell back into the second chair, rubbing at his bald patch, "He clearly had some idea of what was about to happen."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James felt Moneypenny’s eyes flick up to him, her face carefully blank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James swept a hand down his tie, flattening the small wrinkle there from sitting in here far longer than necessary, “I said that he didn’t act like a threat. And as I’ve also said before, he was actively trying to keep people away from the building. He knew what was going to happen, no doubt, but everything about his behavior screamed that he wanted to save lives, not take them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tanner swallowed a frustrated sigh and opened up the file on his lap again, showing the CCTV screenshots taken of the gallery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why did he attack you and no one else?” Mallory asked, his fingers steepled in front of his lips as he stared James down, “That to me seems the most suspicious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James shrugged, honestly unsure himself. The boy was a puzzle, no doubt, one that James had been trying to piece together the last two days with no luck, “My only guess is that he thought it the best way to keep me from going inside. Violent, but effective I suppose," he said as he resisted the urge to rub at his knee that was still wrapped tightly in a brace from medical. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moneypenny smirked as she continued to sort the files on M’s desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>M seemed to accept the answer, falling back into his chair, “Fine. Q branch tells me that CCTV footage was scrambled before and during the bombing. It came back online the moment the first ambulance arrived, so all we have to go on is your assessment and the sketch artist's picture that has had no hits. But, MI5 will want a suspect list to work with. We’re only being allowed to work alongside them because it involved two MI6 personnel, yourself and Boothroyd, so it’s best not to seem like lame ducks when it comes to investigating the death of one of our own. Any ideas?” he asked the room at large.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only sound in response was a chirp from Moneypenny’s phone, for which she apologized and quickly fled the room to take the call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>M deflated in his chair, eyeing his liquor cabinet wearily but making no move towards it. It wasn’t even noon after all. Although James would hardly be one to judge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll revisit the young man when we get more information. Until then, medical tells me that you are grounded until your knee can heal up. Three weeks minimum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James refused to roll his eyes, but he felt the urge soul deep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And in the meantime, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get a life?” M shot back without so much as blinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before James could shoot back a retort that may have gotten him suspended, Moneypenny came darting back into the office, snatching up the remote for the screen mounted on the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir, you’re going to want to see this,” she said, turning on a local news channel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A video appeared of full chaos, people screaming running around the streets, fire burning in a government building that James vaguely recognized. The video shook violently, with the grainy quality of a mobile phone taking it. The tip of a finger popping into the lens’ view every few seconds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A reporter’s voice over of the video interrupted the sounds of horror, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“This video is being sent to us by one of our reporters who was on site for an interview today for the passing of the new parking laws. They stated that the ground suddenly began to vibrate before the flames appeared and the windows blew out glass over the street. Many people outside are injured, and so far we’ve seen nothing of the people inside the building. Emergency personnel are racing to the scene--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James ignored the reporter, his eyes scanning the shaky video footage instead until he caught sight of…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There! Pause it,” he said sharply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moneypenny did so, and they all stared at the screen as James walked up to it and pointed to the far right upper corner where a half face profile was seen of a young man with the same distraught expression that James had seen two days prior. He looked like he was about to flee the scene once again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this live?” M asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moneypenny nodded, “Yes. Explosion was six minutes ago, but the footage here is current.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>M nodded and turned to Tanner, “I want Q-Branch locking into the CCTV and tracing his face from that screen capture. Get a lock on him, now. Ms. Moneypenny, I want you to get our people down to the scene to investigate the explosion. And Bond your mission is to find that boy and bring him in for questioning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James raised his brow, “And medical?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t tell them if you won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James grinned, “Of course, sir.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Turn right?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a direction or a question?” James snarled into his mic, tapping it when the staticky sound came back. He was tearing down the street on foot, having abandoned his car the moment that some nameless Q-Branch tech said that their target had gotten off of the tube. He had a head start that James was struggling to keep up with, the twists and turns the boy was taking making no sense and seemingly at random. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s a direction?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James bit back a frankly obscene curse, wondering if he would have better luck chasing after his target without what felt like an unlicensed backseat driver stuttering in his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you still have eyes on him at least?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His foot splashed in a puddle, soaking it through to the socks as he took the right into an alley. He dodged through trash bins and discarded boxes, only half acknowledging the small calico cat that he nearly barreled over as he tore through to the other side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was best to ignore the shocked faces of the people he pushed by. He was looking for a scared face, not an offended one. Everything else was just background noise as far as he was concerned. While those back at headquarters would prefer a more subtle approach, as far as James was concerned, the time for subtlety had passed with the death of Mansfield. Stealth was for when your target didn’t see you coming. Going by the movements of his target, he knew damned well that he was being hunted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“007, we think we saw him turn down Baker’s lane, headed towards the river.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think?” James shot back, wondering why the hell R let anyone else on the comms these days. Of course she was already too busy trying to keep the division from drowning in the wake of the Quartermaster’s death, but this should probably have fallen on her priority list. It didn’t matter if 004 was being a nuisance in her branch again. He could jolly well wait his damned turn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wait. It might have just been a cat.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you just fucking with me? Do you know what being a Double-O means? Do you really want to find out first hand?” James growled, yanking out the earwig before he could hear any reply. If they actually had useful information, they’d call his mobile he thought, and sprinted on towards the river. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Far down at the end of the street, he thought he saw the tail end of a dark green parka turn right. It could have been any dark green coat, but James somehow knew that this was the one and he launched forward, ignoring all calls of protest as he barreled down the sidewalk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His legs pumped underneath him as his lungs fought with the frigid air. All he could think was that maybe by finding this target, by bringing him back and getting answers, he could get a small semblance of closure that he hadn’t felt since the old M was murdered. He would never get the answers he wanted from Vesper’s death, but here...he had a chance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Get to the bridge, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought viciously to himself, not even caring that his feet were frozen through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally he saw the river up ahead, and the pedestrian street that crossed over the water. He didn’t know this part of the city intimately as he did others. It was a small street that fell off of several side streets, seldom used for normal pedestrian traffic beyond sight seers or those who would want an out of the way cafe and convenience store. There was nobody milling about outside as he raced forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there was nobody at all when he slammed himself to a stop using the handrails that bracketed the water’s edge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James whipped around in all directions, looking for something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he saw was an empty footbridge and street. No turns he could have taken that quickly. No ladders to scale buildings. No hints. Nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Growling to himself, James pulled out his mobile and placed it to his ear. It only rang once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Decided you needed us again, did you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James fought the urge to grind his teeth, “R, tell me you have eyes on him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tommy lost track of him around the time you hung up, but we’ve pulled up your current tracker location and we have the team looking through all available CCTV. We’ll circle back a few minutes to see if we can spot his face. Other than that, not much else we can do on our end.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James hung up without saying anything else. What could he say that wouldn’t get him written up again after all? HR probably had a whole filing cabinet set aside for him at this point for various offenses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was still cold out, a sharp wind cutting through the fabric of his damp suit that came right up off of the water and making him think of his days in Russia with Alec. That was true cold. He couldn’t leave just yet though, not until Q-Branch sorted itself out. The boy could have been holed up in one of the skinny houses that lined the streets. Possibly. They looked abandoned from what he could tell, no recent signs of life anywhere. No lights. No cats in windows. Not even wilted and forgotten flower pots on the doorsteps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was twenty minutes later that R texted him back, saying that they lost sight of him about a block away from where James stood. Vanished was the word she used. He moved from one CCTV feed and should have walked right into the next one seconds later, but there was nothing. No doors to enter. Not even manholes to duck into. Somewhere, right around the bridge, he had seemingly evaporated into the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James hung up with the command to call him with actual news and to not bother him otherwise until his medical leave was up. His frustration that had been building for the last hour was pushed aside as he did what all good Double O’s excelled at. Compartmentalizing. Or, suppression in James’ case. Roughly the same thing in his personal opinion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laying his arms across the handrail, he looked out over the water, staring at its murky depths and wondering if maybe the target had just jumped in. Would explain how he easily disappeared. Like a wriggling fish dropped back into the sea. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comment and let me know what you think!</p>
<p>Up next: James and Alec go "fishing" for their little missing friend.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fishing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>James is on the hunt</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all!<br/>So pleased to see the reception for this new fic is positive :D Last week I was able to power through two chapters for this story, so I thought it would be nice to treat you guys with TWO posted chapters TODAY. WOOOO!!!!</p>
<p>For those who are curious, I've got updates for all my other WIPs below. If anyone is curious about the upcoming fics, then feel free to ask and maybe I can provide more details (pending anything I think it too spoiler-y)</p>
<p>Saoghal Tin: Only a few more chapters to go on this one! Expected to finish the entire fic by the end of this spring.</p>
<p>Us Against the World: Also on it's way to finish around the same time as Saoghal Tin. Expecting to post another chapter later this week!</p>
<p>Guardians of Mirina: This is my upcoming Fantasy AU/Bondlock that I've been working on for a few months. The first chapter should be ready for posting in the next month I think. There will be knights, princes, mages, queens, sea monsters, magic, and all the family drama that comes along with relationships with the Holmes boys</p>
<p>Unnamed Shifter Verse: As promised, a follow up story to Pride is in the works. Outline is almost complete and looking to be another 80-100k word fic. It will have elements from SPECTRE and will possibly lead into another sequel after that once No Time to Die has FINALLY come out. Expect posts from this around the time that ST and UAW end later this spring.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It wasn’t that he didn’t have a life outside of MI6, it was that he found all aspects of life outside of there rather dull and did little to keep his mind off of things he’d rather not brood over more than he had to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moneypenny would tell him he needed to get laid, which he would hardly disagree with, but that was fleeting at best, and messy at worst if phone numbers became involved. There was too much physical build up in his muscles now, the lack of action making him seize up with unresolved tension. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been days and R still hadn’t gotten back to him with anything, which meant they had found nothing of their little fish that got away. It would have been maddening if James wasn’t firmly of a mind to not let himself go mad while stuck laid back on his couch staring at the ceiling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had taken up monitoring all landmarks in the city for his face, waiting for him to appear like a raven, signaling a coming death. No sighting had been made yet, and no further bombings had occurred, but they all felt it in their bones that whatever was happening wasn’t over yet. Two bombings, only related as far as they could tell by a scrawny young man at both scenes and by a lack of any evidence of actual bombs to cause the explosions. The gallery, and the small government building. Two seemingly unrelated places, now nothing but smoking remains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been no terror groups coming forward to claim responsibility, or anonymous demands in order for the death and destruction to end. It seemed nonsensical. Random even. And it was driving M and the whole of MI5 blazing mad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James felt his own sort of insanity creeping up on him the longer he lay idle. Alec wouldn’t be back within the country for another few days, which left him even more bored than he thought possible. His liquor cabinet seemed the best company, a glass rarely straying far from his hand, but it always came up empty time and again, leaving James feeling much the same way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until his fourth night of staring at his white ceiling, empty glass on the floor next to him, that he finally came to the frequent decision to fuck medical and do whatever the hell he wanted. His blasted knee be damned.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The next morning James found himself aimlessly wandering around the area where he had lost his little fish days before. Retracing the alleys and walkways from before, and even scanning through the ones that he hadn’t passed through in his life, he spent hours of his day doing the best impersonation of a bloodhound as he could manage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked back to the site of the bombing, and then followed the whole trail that Q-Branch had tracked him along, unsure what he was looking for, but looking nonetheless. He only stopped and turned around again once he got to the bridge. He had paused there once, leaning against a large electrical box of some sort, blowing hot air into his frozen hands. He had waited there for a while, noting the distinct lack of faces that seemed to roam this far down the street.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a quiet place, tucked away in what felt like the armpit of London. The few people who did wander around the street seemed to just use it as a path to get somewhere else, away from the crowds. Nobody seemed to belong there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, it never hurt to ask around, so James had shoved his hands in his pockets and started to visit the small businesses along the street, giving his fish’s description. The deadened eyes of his interviewees and careless shrugs told him that faces meant nothing to them and would be of no help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only one who seemed remotely interested in James’ presence in the back end of the street was the small calico cat that he had nearly trampled during his chase. It had followed him around several of the alleys and around the bridge, sniffing delicately at the air and watching him through slitted golden eyes as he roamed around. Eventually, James noted that it was missing a back leg, which surprised him given how easily it seemed to get about. She had a collar of sorts, no address or number on it. Just the simply printed name of Gizmo, and nothing else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had helpfully shown him her rear when asked if she’d seen a little fish about her alley.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A whole day passed. He had turned up nothing. Which made it a wonder that James showed up and did it all over again the next two days. Again, he turned up nothing. He did manage to share a snack with Gizmo, but that was the only brief highlight of his day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fourth morning, as he took a cab over to the same streets once again, he decided that he needed a new approach. Literally. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His little fish was slippery, and clever, and must have known something about the CCTV cameras littering the streets of London if he had avoided them so well. Roaming about the area, in view of everyone and everything was hardly stealthy of James. He was a damned spy and should have known better in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew how to avoid cameras, knew how to become technologically invisible to the world. Disappearing was one of his greatest skills after all. It was time he put those skills to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time he had the cabbie drop him off a few blocks further away, and James quickly ditched his coat and acquired a gaudy sweatshirt and hat at a nearby tourist vendor. Pulling the rim low over his face, James hunched his shoulders and ducked his head down, pointed down the now familiar streets ahead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Avoiding cameras catching his face was one thing. Doing it while making it all seem casual was another. Blowing on cold hands worked well enough in this weather. Coughing into the crook of his arm was another. Strategically held newspapers, coffee cups, mobile phones...he used every trick he knew to remain anonymous as he walked around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It paid off only a few hours later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Passing by the shoddy convenience store, James caught sight of a green parka inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of all the ways James imagined finding him, doing his shopping seemed alarmingly anticlimactic somehow. Groceries hardly seemed fitting for a supposed evil terrorist, but then again, James didn’t really suspect that he was evil to begin with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If it weren’t for his training, he would have frozen there and drawn attention to himself, but instead he walked a few more paces before bending down to pull at his shoe laces. It took only moments of peeking through the corner of his eye to establish that his little fish had not seen him and was still browsing the narrow aisles of the shop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Going inside would be too obvious, so James pulled out his mobile and started chatting to the air as he watched through the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time he spent longer memorizing the young man’s features, taking in the exact shade of hair. A very dark brown that could be disguised as black in certain lighting. The panes of his face. Delicate, but with a strong jawline. He even took note of the thick black and clear rimmed glasses that framed pale green eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The basket held in his hands held meager supplies it seemed. Pot noodles. Cans of tuna and chicken. A loaf of the cheapest bread available. Hardly the makings of a super evil overlord. More like an average student on a budget. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His clothes spoke of many years of use, but they at least appeared cared for and clean. The cuffs of the jeans he wore were frayed and damp, the edges hanging over the edges of his nearly worn through jogging shoes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and the shop owner exchanged no words, and he left the shop quickly, passing by James without a glance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James could have grabbed him then. Dig his fist into the loose jacket and haul his skinny arse down to MI6. But he didn’t. This was his catch from the start, and he wanted to observe some more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He followed at a safe distance, trying to take in any and all information he could gather from his catch. He had a nervous gate to his walk, like he instinctively wanted to run but was reluctant to draw attention. His neck was bent and shoulders raised, keeping his face tucked away in the hood of his jacket. He knew these streets well enough that he didn’t need to look up to know where he was going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was with familiarity that he pulled open the heavy door to the small and grungy café several blocks away and stepped inside. James ducked inside behind him when he saw it had enough people inside to camouflage himself with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James watched as he took a few moments, seemingly sucking in the warmth, before pulling out a fistful of coins from his pocket. Carefully he counted out his pennies, smiling when it seemed like he had the correct amount for his order, and stepped up to the counter eagerly and muttered softly to the barista. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moments later, a small paper cup of something steaming and a small bag were handed back to him. His whole face lit up like she had presented him with a winning lottery ticket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was too much joy on his lean features at something as simple as a hot drink and a snack, and it tugged at James’ heart in an uncomfortable and unfamiliar way. Even more than before, James knew that this couldn’t be their serial bomber, and the itch to bring him back to MI6 faded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had expected his fish to enjoy the warm café for a few minutes at least, enjoying his meal, but he scurried out almost as fast as he came in, and James quickly ordered a black coffee to look somewhat less suspicious, before dashing back out onto the street.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First glance there was nobody walking in either direction, and James worried that his little fish had gotten away once again, but then he saw a familiar flash of multicolored fur jump onto a bench that held an equally familiar green parka.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ducking into the nearest alley, James peaked around the corner to watch the young man pull out what looked like a turkey sandwich, picking off bits of the meat and giving them to Gizmo who had crawled into his lap. They both looked comfortable together, and James wondered if he had not only found his little fish, but he also identified Gizmo’s owner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched, somewhat amazed as the two of them slowly worked through the sandwich like it was a Christmas day feast. All the while he heard a soft voice talking to his little furry friend about what he’d gotten while shopping, and how he’d found enough change on the sidewalk to indulge in their lunch that day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, every last crumb disappeared, and that’s when James heard the soft voice suggest that they head home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James sucked in a breath, realizing that this was his chance to find out where he lived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eagerness filled his veins as he watched the young man stand stiffly up from the cold bench, the cat leaping gracefully to the ground despite her missing limb. Side by side, the two of them walked down the street, unaware of the shadow lurking behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A frosty wind gusted through the street, harsh enough that even James shivered despite his new wool jacket. Up ahead he saw the young man shiver violently before swooping up Gizmo in his arms and tucking her into the thin folds of his parka. His steps became more hurried as the taste of snow floated in on the wind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James easily kept up pace behind them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon they were coming up on the bridge and James watched curiously for where he would go next, seeing as this was where he all but dissipated into the ether last time he was chased here. James carefully ducked into an alley and pulled out a mirror to peek around the corner unseen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched as his little fish approached the edge of the bridge, pausing at the same electrical box that James had used for a rest a few days before. His head swiveled in all directions, his arms curled protectively around the swell in his parka, as he surveyed the area for anyone watching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James himself had already done that as they had moved down the street, noting that there were no other human souls about on that frigid morning. Eventually, the boy seemed to be satisfied that nobody was watching, and he crouched down next to the box and started to fiddle with a latch there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James watched in awe as the latch gave way to what appeared to be a small door that opened up into...well, James couldn’t make that part out, but it made for a fantastic hiding spot. Those boxes existed everywhere in cities and towns, to think that they could be made into a hideaway was mind boggling to the agent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The head of dark curls disappeared into the box, the door shutting firmly behind him, and James let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He’d done it. He’d found the boy. Now James had to decide just how to go about the next step.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Job done for the day, James hurried back to the main roads, eager to get out of the cold and back to his empty flat where he could start planning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dipped a gloved hand into his pocket and pulled out his personal mobile, the one that MI6 didn’t regularly check. James dialed one of the small numbers of contacts, pulling it up to his ear as he waited for the familiar and gruff answer that always followed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alec. Care to come fishing with me? Found a nice spot it seems.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On to the next chapter!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Reel it In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>James explores Q's lair</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here's your second post! Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“I still don’t understand why we aren't just nabbing him and bringing him in.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James bit back the sigh that threatened to fall from his lips as he tried to remind himself that Alec was doing him a favor by helping with this. “This” being an unknown, unadvised and unauthorized surveillance mission of his own making. Not to mention that they were using Q-Branch pilfered equipment while doing “this”. Alec would never snitch on him though as long as treason never came into the picture. They had that special kind of relationship that tended to add more wrinkles on M’s forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because, Alec, as he appears to be about as intimidating as a mouse, he also seems to be as skittish as one. If we mess up the grab he’ll go back into hiding and we’ll never be able to lure him out again. Not to mention MI5 would have to be informed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alec hummed thoughtfully over their staticky comms, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You know, a lot of people are terrified of mice.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed. MI5 among them it seems. They find him first then they’re more likely to squish him with a broom while screeching like banshees before we get any answers. Best do this off books for as long as we can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let the mouse hunt continue then.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James grinned up at the building, knowing that Alec was watching from the roof, and continued to duck around the cameras. Just having that presence nearby was enough for James to feel nearly invincible. From his perch up there, Alec would be able to easily see the bridge and the surrounding streets using a pair of binoculars that had mysteriously disappeared from Q-Branch the day before. It was hardly a dangerous weapon, so nobody was terribly alarmed. James wondered if they found the missing comms yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d already spotted the young man earlier, having cautiously crawled from his den inside the electrical box, and stumbled his way down the street for what appeared to be another round of penny collecting paired with shopping. The comms had screeched loudly in his ear as Alec’s cursing came over them as they watched someone apparently come out of the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Holy fuck, James! He’s one of those mole people that the conspiracy forums talk about! They’re real. Shite.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Alec’s initial surprise had worn off, they had turned their focus back to the job and the young man that was now walking into various shops. No Gizmo in sight, probably because it was another painfully frigid day out. Alec had been able to watch him move around inside a few of the shops while James took the long, camera-less route back to the bridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s it looking, Alec?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A screech of static went off in his ear, making James cringe, reaching up to tap the earwig a few times before the sound died back down. Only then did Alec’s voice come back online. James hated when the comms did that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“CRSHH---...-ine. Bloody cold though. Our mouse seems to have a soft spot for sweets. Keeps staring at the pastries shop window like I stare at breasts. Wonder if---CRSHHHH---...anyway, looks like he’s headed over to the bookshop next. He looks the type to stay in there for hours. This would be your chance, James.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was perfect timing, James had already reached the bridge and all but dove for the electrical box, only sparing a brief moment to look around him for any curious bystanders. Empty streets around, James dropped to his knees and started feeling around for the latch that should be there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before coming here with Alec, James had explored a few of the electrical boxes around his own building. Not just to familiarize himself with the outer shell, but to also make sure that there were no other mole people digging tunnels under his flat. Kneeling here now, having seen a few of these already, he could quickly spot the little black latch that hadn’t been on any of the others he’d inspected before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It flicked open easily, and the side panel swung open just wide enough for a person to slip through. Well, a small person could slip through. James knew he was broad in the shoulders, and it made getting inside a bit of a struggle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“May be time to watch the carbs, Jamesy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stuff it Alec, you weigh two stone more than me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m taller than you, and you know it. I can have R pull the medical records right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut it, I’m busy,” James growled back as he tried to drag his legs into the dark box with him, wondering why the hell he decided to wear a nice pair of slacks when he knew he’d be crawling around on the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling the panel shut behind him, James took stock of his surroundings. It was an empty electrical box. Save for one manhole cover in the center and a pry bar mounted to the side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s how the little shit did it,” he muttered to himself and quickly grabbed the tool and moved the lid aside. The kid must have been a lot stronger than he looked, seeing as the lid was enormously heavy as he pushed it aside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“CRSHHH----...at? James? What are---CRSHHHH”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Busy,” James hissed, using his mobile torch to peer down the hole. It flashed off of the metal rungs of the ladder leading down into the sewers, and nothing else appeared to be waiting for him at the bottom, so James shrugged and swung himself down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air at the bottom was musty and hinted at moisture nearby, but not as repugnant as he thought it would be. His shoes echoed off the brick walls as he stepped down, looking left and right down the tunnels using his light. It looked normal enough, and James wondered if the boy was just using the tunnels as a way of traveling the city unseen. It was dangerous, James knew from experience, seeing how easy it was to get lost or caught in a rush of overflow rainwater, but serviceable enough if one didn’t care about the condition of their shoes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“CRSHHHH-----...mes? James? Where ar----CRSHHH”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m in the sewers. No reception. Give me twenty minutes,” he shot back, ignoring the crackling in his ear. One of these days Q-Branch would have to come up with comms that functioned underground. It was astounding how often agents found themselves in places like this. The underground criminal networks they find were often literally placed underground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If this was the boys way of getting around, there was likely little that James would find, and he was about to just head back up the ladder when a few footprints caught his eye. Muddy footprints were hardly a surprise down here, but what was surprising was how they were angled, like the boy was aiming to walk into a wall just a few paces further down the tunnel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brow raised, James moved to follow the path, smirking when he noted the tiny staggered footprints of a three legged cat interspersed through the man made marks. He came up to where the footprints suddenly turned, and James came face to face with a door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the dark tunnel, the recessed door was all but hidden from all angles unless one stood directly in front of it. It was masterful, really. And perhaps a little alarming. Alec's earlier worry over mole people was starting to bring up many unwanted concerns in James’ mind. The only thing that held any sort of homey feel to it though was the little cat door flap at the bottom. Gizmo must live here too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He placed his ear against the door, listening for any sound of movement on the other side, but all he could make out was an electrical hum. There was a lock on the door, but it only took James a few minutes to pick it before he heard the bolt withdraw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James reached under his jacket and pulled out his gun, flicking off the safety as he slowly opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Christ.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door had opened up to reveal a single, large room that was aglow in the blue lights of what looked like an entire wall of computer monitors. Cement surrounded him from floor to ceiling, keeping the room chilly despite the electronics that were tucked in various corners. James stared in awe at the different screens, noting ones that displayed the real time CCTV feeds from the streets above while other screens showed things like running code, maps, and news feeds. There was even one monitor that was closer to the floor that was playing a video of nothing but swimming goldfish, which seemed odd to James until he spotted the small cat bed tucked on the floor nearby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The desk below the wall of monitors looked to have been made from wood panels that were mismatched in size and color, making James believe it had been made from wood found in the trash. It was well built though, structurally sound if it was capable of holding the weight of what appeared to be two computers, four laptops, and what looked like at least six ongoing projects of some kind. The dichotomy of the “rustic” desk against the modernity of tech littering it’s surface was jarring enough that it took a while before James turned to survey the rest of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was some shelving off to the back of the room, one loaded with servers all stacked neatly, others filled with more projects, small gadgets and gizmos, and even a few weapons that made James’ hackles rise and his hand tighten around the gun he held. There was an entire shelf dedicated to canned foods, both human and cat, and various life necessities. Anything that wasn’t in sturdy packaging was tucked into Tupperware with lids, no doubt to keep rats from indulging in the bounty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The right top corner there was a mattress on the floor, all but buried beneath mismatched blankets and pillows. That’s where he spotted Gizmo, lazily eyeing him from where she lay curled in the center of it. Her face was still puffed up from her most recent nap, but didn’t seem displeased at being woken up by an almost stranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does this mean that the cat bed is where he sleeps?” he asked her, getting a sleepy chirp in reply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James turned again, taking in the small “kitchen” set up that consisted of a hot plate and electric kettle. There were wires dangling from holes drilled in the walls and ceiling everywhere, so James deduced he must be stealing power from the buildings above. Then he turned again, and noted the pipes coming down into a curtained off area off to his right that meant he was stealing water too for his own personal bathroom. A neatly draped towel hung off of a rusted pipe on the wall, underneath what looked like a welded together shower head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As dreary as the environment around him was, the room still was neat and organized and with enough personal touches that it didn’t immediately put James off. It was someone’s home, no doubt about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all incredible and it was also all a bit disturbing. The young man topside that enjoyed sweets and cats was living in what appeared, for all intents and purposes, was an actual honest to god underground evil lair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The image he had in his mind of the young man his organization was currently tasked with hunting down painted a lonely and troubling picture for James. So many times before, James had stared evil in the eye, seen the darkness in the tainted remains of their wretched souls as he shot them down. He’d seen the people capable of true evil so many times, he sometimes even felt like he could find it in his own bathroom mirror, but when James had looked into the jade green eyes of this boy...he had seen no such thing. Had he been wrong?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James moved over to the desk, taking a closer look at the table’s contents. Engineering was hardly his strong point, but he knew what a gear was, and knew the general assembly of a car engine. He could recognize a few bits and bobs that were scattered about, and saw some circuit boards that appeared to be midway through a soldering session. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The homespun weapons he noted around the room were somewhat concerning though, the first niggling sense of doubt that his little fish may not be wholly as innocent as he thought, and he peeled his eyes for signs of bomb making materials. He didn’t spot any on the first glance, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t made any in the past.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A soft meow behind him had James swirling around to see Gizmo stand up from her nest, arching her back and all but unhinging her jaws as she yawned. Guiltily, James lowered his gun as he watched her make a general show of cleaning her paw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gaze drifted a little behind her as he spotted the hundreds of small papers and maps all tacked onto a board on the wall. Walking over, it became more apparent what it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Newspaper clippings. Surveillance shots. Maps. Dates. Names. The clips were from each and every one of the bombings, photos taken before and after the damage was done. There were blurry photos of various men that James didn’t recognize, names scribbled in pen along with the dates they were taken no doubt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes drifted to the clipping near the center, a red circle drawn over a painfully familiar scowl. M. His M, was staring back at him from her obituary that had circulated through the Government after her death had been formally announced to the public. The starkly red pen that had marked up her picture was pulling painfully at him. Was this mark made in anger or observation? As far as they knew, the explosion at Vauxhall was completely unrelated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no denying that his little fish was somehow connected to all this. Whether he was the cause or something else entirely had yet to be seen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sensing his time was soon up, James pulled out his mobile, ready to start snapping a few photos of the room for Alec to review with him. When he pulled out his phone though, he noticed several missed calls and texts. All from Alec.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled up the most recent text, frowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>GET THE FUCK OUT. HE’S COMING BACK FAST</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” James hissed, already turning on his heel to duck out of the room quickly. He stopped in his tracks, frozen, when he looked up to see his little fish standing there, a gun held up in his hand and pointed straight at James.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please comment and let me know your thoughts! :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Caught</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They meet for the second time</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Back again for a very quick drop of a chapter. Short one this time, but to be followed by more soon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>James would have felt a little more worried if the young man standing before him didn’t look about five seconds from a full blown panic attack. His green eyes were wide and darting to all corners of the room, sliding off of James in between like he was made of jelly. </span>
  <span>He was even panting a little, a slight wheezing sound coming from his lungs like he’d just gotten over a cold or was coming down with one. A flush stained his pale cheeks as he swiveled his head back and forth. He must have run all the way back here after James had tripped some sort of internal security. As an agent, James should have known better, but there was something about his little fish that kept taking down his guard when it came to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James kept his hands up in the air, watching his every muscle twitch. There was a lot of twitching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly the green gaze flicked onto him, eyes narrow accusingly, “Where’s Giz?” he demanded, his grip tightening on the gun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took James a moment to process that he was being asked about the cat, and not what the agent was doing in his lair. He hid his surprise well enough, he was one of the best agents after all, smooth readjustments were a required skill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled brightly, all glowing teeth as he vaguely gestures behind him, “Last I saw she was making use of the bed,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, the young man bent over at the waist, twisting to see past James to where the mattress was tucked behind him. The gun dangling limply in his hand. His mouth fell open as if deeply offended when he spotted Gizmo lounging there still, her golden eyes squinting happily at the two of them. She let out a lazy yawn and stood up to stretch for a moment, only to lay back down in the same spot after. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my bed, I got you your own! We’ve talked about this,” he whined at the cat, sounding like he indeed did have this talk many times before with a stubborn roommate or something of the like. Gizmo, in all her fluffy glory, only blinked slowly at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James was equal parts alarmed and amused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, the young man’s attention seemed to be fully on the bed stealing cat and James was just about to pounce on the opportunity, only getting as far as bunching his muscles before the muzzle of the gun was whipped back up at his face. His little fish had barely moved otherwise. James put his hands back up, slightly impressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for not hurting my cat,” he said casually, standing up and taking up a more formal gun holding stance, “Now, I would like you to explain who you are and why you’re here,” he asked politely. The poshness in his voice coming from the bedraggled and frumpy boy before him was a little jarring, but James brushed it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My name is James Bond, I was coming to see if you knew anything about the bombings,” he stated simply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy frowned, a look of confusion playing over his youthful features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I work with MI6 you see…” James added when there was no response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy stared back at him dumbly, his mouth gaping a few times as he stared at James in shock, “I--you…” he sputtered, “I knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just didn’t expect you to be dumb enough to give you real name and where you worked. Are you supposed to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>secret</span>
  </em>
  <span> agent?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yes, but--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hardly seems very secretive to give out your real name, let alone your employer. Do you do that for all your missions? Can you even go undercover anymore? Might as well just give you a name badge to wear, save you the trouble of letting the baddies know there’s an agent among them,” he said as he waved the hand with the gun around, making James increasingly nervous that it would accidentally go off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James smiled apologetically, trying to seem as unthreatening as possible, “Ah, apologies for my own confusion, but how do you know that it’s my real name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’ve seen your records in the MI6 database,” he said nonchalantly, flicking the gun casually towards the hoard of computers on the desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James’ lips twitched as he tried to hold the smile in place, “I see. Visit the MI6 servers occasionally, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged, a shy smile flicking over his lips, “With security like that it almost felt like an invitation to do just that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James’ mouth dropped open a bit at the admission, “You’re a little crazy aren’t you?” he said before he could stop himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slight man hardly looked bothered by the comment, jutting his chin out proudly, “I prefer excessively quirky, with a healthy dose of anxiety, ta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was not the normal cadence that James was used to when it came to shocking informants into spilling information, and he found himself at a loss for the first time since he was a rookie agent far too long ago. It was rather astounding, and just a tad alarming. He wondered absently if Alec could hear any of this through the faulty earwig, and was no doubt as flabbergasted as James was. There was something off about his little fish, more so than just the tech lair and general mystery of the man. He couldn't tell if his fish was truly just a few bananas short of a bunch, or if he was remarkably arrogant. Perhaps even both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James cocked his head to the side, “Well, you seem to know so much about me. I seem to be at somewhat of a disadvantage, Mr…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, “You may call me Q,” he allowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to not let his reaction show at such an odd name, pursing his lips together before breaking back into his trademark friendly smile, “...Q it is then. I must insist that my purpose here isn’t to hurt you, or take you anywhere. I hope I haven’t alarmed you too much in that regard, I’m here because--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re here for information on the bombings,” Q finished for him, sounding a bit sad, “You’ve given my face to MI5. I don’t really appreciate that. Been quite the headache hiding myself from them,” he grouched, using the barrel of his gun to rub at his forehead like the ache was still present.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James winced at the blatant safety violation, “Ah, best not use it like that, Q. Wouldn’t want it to go off accidentally.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q looked surprised and pulled it away from his head, shrugging as he placed it on the table, once again catching James off guard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to worry, it wasn’t even loaded. I forgot when I grabbed it that I had melted down the bullets for a weld I was working on. It’s all fine though, I’ve got back ups around here somewhere,” he said as he ducked cautiously by James and made his way over to the bed. A radius of at least two meters was kept between them as Q moved about, a true feat given that the room was hardly to be considered large. His feet were quick under him as he moved past the agent, but the footsteps were silent, like he was well practiced in keeping quiet and out of sight. Bending over, he scooped up Gizmo in his arms, burying his face in her fur and only then did he seem to relax minutely. He whispered to her that they would discuss the bed matter later on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still as jittery as a mouse in the presence of a cat, eyeing James closely as he moved about. His shivers could have been nerves or from the general chill of the underground room, but James could practically smell the unease coming off of Q in waves. A little intimidation went a long way when it came to mundane interrogations like this, but he was teetering on a fine edge of nervousness that could quickly fall into full blown panic. He had to play this carefully. Q was their best lead, innocent or not, and he was being friendly enough for the moment. He was a living contradiction though, from what James could tell. Nervous wreck in one moment and oozing confidence in the next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Consciously, James shifted his body into a more open and relaxed posture that would help put Q at ease. He smiled, all teeth on display, and lazily put his hands in his pockets, “So, about that information. From what I gathered at the Gallery and at the government building, you were trying to save people, am I right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q nodded hesitantly, holding Gizmo tighter to his chest like a security blanket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q,” James said softly, “I also know that you kicking me was to save me. You saved my life. I won’t forget that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but fell back into the flat bloodless line as he stared at the agent across from him like a snake about to strike. He glanced nervously at his wall of screens, eyes dancing over the different security feeds displayed there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t be here,” he said finally, his voice cracking, “If you found me, so could they.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In his arms, Gizmo mewed pitifully up at her master, like she could sense his distress growing. Q hushed her gently, frantically running his fingers down her flank in a comforting gesture that could have been for both of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who is ‘they’, Q? Tell me and I can try to help you. Are you hiding? Running?” James pushed gently. He stepped forward, making Q flinch and take several steps back. He was a bit rusty at questionings that didn’t include blood or sex. He felt like a machete being used to peel a grape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q was shaking his head, “You need to leave, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to know who they are, Q, and what they’re planning. We can stop the next one together. You tried to save people before, let us help,” James said, almost beggingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s breathing was starting to pick up, “No, I don’t...I don’t know anything more, not yet. I just---please, you need to leave. I need to find out if you were tracked here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re worried about being safe, then I can take you somewhere safe!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Q all but shrieked, his eyes impossibly wide as he cradled Gizmo to his chest, somehow not squishing her in his panic, “I can’t leave, there are cameras. There are always cameras. And now you have my face being searched in all of them. I can’t help you, because I don’t really know when or if another is coming. I’m sorry. I’m so very very sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James was beginning to get agitated. Q obviously knew more than anyone else did, and yet everything about his body language screamed that he was being truthful. He could very easily overpower the slighter man, tie his hands with the hundreds of cables around the room, and drag him back to MI6 for a real interrogation, but...something stilled him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leveled his gaze on Q, forcing him to meet his eyes, and squared his shoulders, “Q...you saved my life, so in exchange I will not ruin yours. I’ll leave and I won’t report this to anyone. I’m sure you can check the MI6 servers to confirm that. But,” he added sharply, “I want you to let me know if you do come across any useful information and I’ll help in any way I can. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q froze for a moment, seemingly shocked that James wasn’t forcing him to do anything, but then he nodded sharply, face set in grim determination, “Of course. I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Thank you. Um, should I give you my card, or--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q flapped his hand at him, “Don’t need it. I know how to reach you when necessary. Now leave, please,” he said firmly, despite his frame still shaking minutely. He started to creep his way over to his desk, Gizmo still tucked in his arms and eyeing James as he passed, “I’ve got work to do. Oh, and go out of the manhole cover thirty meters down to the left. You’ll come up in an alley with no CCTV feeds. Ta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clearly, he had been formally dismissed it seemed, and despite all his MI6 training he listened to his instincts and decided that he would wait for Q to come find him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, James ducked out and back into the tunnels and turned left, all the while wondering what the fuck he was going to tell Alec.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Screw loose Q is very fun and very difficult to write, lol. Best way to keep James on his toes!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Crash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Q brings James intel</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again! It's a bit early for posting the next chapter of this fic, but don't think I'll have the time next week to do it. So enjoy!!!!<br/> James is a bit of a bastard in this chapter, but he'll redeem himself eventually ;)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For those of you who wanted to check out the Fantasy AU I've been teasing, I've posted the first chapter. Check out Guardian of Mirina when you get a chance :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Over a week had passed since James’ interesting first meeting with Q, and despite the growing pressures from both M and MI5, he still felt comfortable in his decision to wait out for news from his informant. He was still on medical leave, so nobody would be overly suspicious at his lack of action at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having had time now to process everything he’d observed from Q, James felt sure that he wasn’t dealing with the bomber. That being said, he had no clue just who it was that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> dealing with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What could Q have possibly gotten involved in at such a young age that he was tied to a bomber, and was having to live in an underground cave to hide from the world? He hardly looked like he belonged outside of a University campus, let along scraping together his life in alleys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James could feel the growing crack in his walls that he’d put up to keep the tattered remains of his heart safe, the first blow coming from the moment he saw the literally heartbreaking lost look on Q’s youthful features when he’d been pushed to the ground. It had only grown from there after seeing the life he was living, and how afraid he’d been. James tried not to acknowledge guilt as a personal survival technique, but he had felt a hint of it sting him when he saw how invading Q’s home had affected him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How irksome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was dark outside, the streets holding an eerie orange glow to them as a blanket of snow fell from the sky. The first real storm of the season had blown in early this year, causing all of London to shutter themselves away behind their doors and walls to hide from the cold. Just by standing next to his window, James could feel the frigid air trying to seep past the glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel it even more viscerally in the aches that plagues through his old injuries, the damaged and re-healed muscles unable to cope with the stiffness that the cold brought with it. It made him feel broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Idly, he wondered how Q fared in weather like this. If his lair got even colder. If he had enough blankets to keep him and Gizmo warm enough. He shouldn’t care at all. But he did, and that bothered him almost as much as the thought of Q shivering under the blue glow of his monitors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That rattle in his chest could have been a developing cold, and could now be full blown. Would he be able to keep an eye on his programs and computers if he was sick? James was staking a lot of lives on Q and his uncanny ability to track down the targets. At least that was the reason he was using to justify the dread that was steadily growing in his gut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he saw the strong gust of wind blow through the street, sending a plume of dusted snow swirling about that James let his worry quickly morph into panic. Perhaps he had miscalculated Q’s ability to survive on his own. Maybe he should have insisted that Q come with him in the first place, back to his flat where he could work and hide while at least having a fireplace to work with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, fuck me,” James groaned out loud, sparing one moment to bang his forehead against the frosted glass before he pushed off and began to walk towards his bedroom. His mind had been made up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was just beginning to mentally prepare himself for breaking his promise and heading back to the bridge to check on him when he heard a hesitant knock at his door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James froze mid step in the middle of his living room, tensing up as he ran through all the possibilities of who could be at his door. Alec was out of the country again. Moneypenny never came here unless she thought James was on some life threatening bender. He certainly didn’t order anything yet…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard a faint sigh at the door and then a few key taps just barely coming through the thick wood of the door. There was a little bit of scratching heard near the base, muffled for a moment under some soft cursing. Someone was trying to break in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James silently reached under his coffee table, pulling out the gun that he kept taped under there for such occasions as this. It only took him mere seconds to check it was loaded and armed before he ducked into the shadows of his darkened kitchen, gun held up by his cheek as he listened to the faint sound of beeps that came next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His electronic lock whirled to life unexpectedly, the bolt retracting easily enough as if James were the one unlocking it with his key and thumb print. James tensed up again as the door swung open, and a slight form walked in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James whipped around the corner, the gun aimed directly at the intruder's head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> here. Why didn’t you answer the door? Bloody rude of you,” he said. The agent could hardly make out his expression thanks to fogged up glasses and a scarf that took up most of his face, but he would recognize that dry tone anywhere now. Not to mention the stray bits of wild hair that were trying to escape the confines of the knit beanie on his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James’ whole body sagged against the counter as Q shuffled into his flat, Gizmo’s head popping out from the folds of his jacket and looking around curiously at their new surroundings. All the building adrenaline that was pumping through his veins, ready for a fight that would now not come had James nearly boneless as Q unzipped his coat and let his cat jump down onto the floor. It was then that James noted the very brightly colored knit sweater that she wore that both clashed and suited her calico pattern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to talk about being rude when you’re the one who just broke into an MI6 sanctioned flat like it was nothing more than a child’s lock,” James shot back, placing the gun away in a nearby drawer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q straightened up from where he was bent over cooing at Gizmo and flattening the wrinkles in her sweater, shooting James a very unimpressed look over the rim of his foggy glasses, “Seemed fair enough since you broke into my place not too long ago. Or do you not recall? I do remember the age listed in your documents as somewhat advanced. And it was a child’s lock as far as I’m concerned. You should really look into that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James choked on what could have been his answer if he wasn’t still buffering mentally from the sudden intrusion into his quiet, if not fretful, evening. Q hardly seemed to mind his mental breakdown, as he was already making himself at home in some sense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, as if walking around the edges of a lava pit, Q was sliding along the walls, his back plastered to them as he inched along. He kept up his sideways crab walk until he came up to James first window and he paused to pull down the curtains. Then he continued on until he had pulled down the other three in the room. Only letting his shoulder’s pull away from the wall when he finished shutting the last one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James watched it all like a nature documentary of some odd bird mating ritual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was rather stupid of you, coming in like that. I could have shot you,” James finally scolded as Q moved into the center of the living room where Gizmo was currently making the couch her own. She seemed right at home among the designer pillows, despite the obviously homemade knit she wore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q pulled off his glasses, carefully cleaning them between the folds of the ratty jumper he wore, “Well, I held a gun to your face before as well. Seems we’ve become about even in most regards at this point,” he said nonchalantly shrugging it off like having a trained agent hold an </span>
  <em>
    <span>armed</span>
  </em>
  <span> weapon at him was no more offensive than bumping into each other in a hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as James was off put by having Q so suddenly show up, it certainly did make his night far easier than he had already mentally prepared himself for. He didn’t even have to go out into that god awful storm to try and find the little boffin. Rather convenient that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The worry from earlier over Q’s condition was only somewhat lessened at seeing him alive and whole and standing in his flat while dripping all over his carpet. It wasn’t completely dissipated though, something that James would begrudgingly reflect on later, and he carefully took in as much details as he could from the young man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His skin was alarmingly pale, but that was nothing new. Bet he didn't catch much sunlight underground. The creases of his jacket and winter wear all still held little white patches of snow that had taken roost, but were now quickly melting in the warm flat. Even without the jerky motion by which the water droplets fell off of him, James knew that Q was shivering badly from the cold and was probably soaked through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gizmo seemed only slightly damp, already working on her cold toes by licking them gently. Q must have hunched over her to keep her warm and dry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sigh, James turned back into the kitchen, pulling open the cupboard that held his scotch and pulled it out with an old box of tea that he had bought accidentally a few grocery trips ago. As he poured himself a drink, he began to make the warm tea for Q. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or did you just come for the heat?” James called out over his shoulder. Q probably didn’t realize what an honor, or insult, having his back to the boffin could be, and James wouldn’t point it out. He honestly still did not believe Q held any threat against himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes. You told me to come to you with any information,” he heard Q say, his voice sounding like he was still standing in the middle of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, James resisted the instinct to fall back into his mission mode, knowing that any sudden change in his demeanor may startle Q, so he forced himself to hold back from starting an interrogation and focused back on the drinks in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking back into the main area, James saw that Q still stood there in his wet clothes, looking like a wet cat more than his actual cat that was still bathing herself on James’ pristine couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James sighed as he placed the drinks on the coffee table, “Go ahead and take off your jacket, Q. No matter how little information you have, I’m not letting you go out again in that storm tonight. You may as well relax a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q startled a bit, like he wasn’t used to being addressed kindly, but dutifully removed his jacket, hat and scarf and hung them on the coat rack by the door. He kept the small laptop bag with him though, clutching it close until he was able to prop it up against the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. But we should be fine heading back later. The snow coming down is what made it easier to come here in the first place. CCTV quality is all but destroyed by heavy snow drifts. I didn’t even have to take the long way to avoid being spotted. Pity the tube was shut down though,” he said, moving back into the living room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James was about to offer him a seat on the couch next to his preening cat, but when he turned around he winced at seeing the state of the rest of Q’s clothes. His pants were soaked up to his thighs where the jacket length had stopped, the fabric looked uncomfortably plastered to the skin underneath. The collar of his mangy looking jumper didn’t look much better, hanging heavy and low around a prominent collar bone. The skin showing was pale enough that there was a blue tint to it, making goosebumps rise on James’ arm in sympathy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, I’ve seen snowmen more tropical that you. You’re not sitting around in those wet things. You’ll shiver right off the cushions. You’re taking off those clothes,” James ordered, accidentally letting a bit of his old Naval commander's voice slip in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q flinched violently though, jerking back from James, “What?” he asked, his voice thin and scared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Realizing his mistake, James lifted both of his hands up in clear sight and took a step back. Q was still tensed up and staring at him warily, but he at least didn’t look ready to bolt. James cleared his throat awkwardly, “I meant to say that I’ll find you something to wear while we put your things in the dryer. You can even use the shower to warm up if you like. There’s a lock on the inside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s eyes narrowed at him suspiciously, but he eventually nodded, “No shower, but I’ll take something to wear until my things are dry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James ended up finding some joggers that had a drawstring that pulled tight, and a sweatshirt that was from his naval academy days, back when he wasn’t quite so muscular. They fit Q about as well as elephant skin, but they were warm enough and Q seemed grateful. He was far more enthusiastic about the tea though, making nearly pornagraphic noises over his mug even though James was relatively sure that the tea brand was anything but fancy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, James got Q sitting comfortably on the couch, one sweater wrapped hand holding his mug while the other stroked Gizmo’s fur methodically, soothing them both until their eyes were half lidded. The only sounds in the flat were of the dryer off in the hall, and the occasional sips of a drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James allowed himself a small smirk as he watched the two of them all but melt into the soft couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She follows you everywhere, does she?” James asked, letting amusement touch his words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s eyes snapped back onto the agent, but he remained relaxed and his strokes didn’t falter, “For the most part. Sometimes she likes to wander off, exploring or looking for a live meal, but she always comes back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s been yours long?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s gaze turned wistful, a soft smile falling on his lips that were still stained red from the cold, “A few years. I found her injured on the street, probably hit by a car. It was risky to take her to get help, I could have been spotted, but I couldn’t just leave her there. I took her to a vet, where she ended up losing the leg, but she survived and I helped her get back on her three remaining feet. After that, she never left.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James kept his face carefully neutral at the information, storing away the small detail that meant Q had been in hiding for at least a few years. What he had yet to determine, was who it was that Q was hiding from. Far be it for James to decide what was considered healthy living, but he couldn’t help but feel a deep seated wrongness consume him every time he pondered Q’s existence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let a few minutes pass, watching as Q slowly relaxed more in his presence, most of his attention set on his cup and his cat to hold off anxiety it seemed. Even though he appeared calm, James knew that one false step and Q would scramble away faster than a startled mouse. He wanted answers, but he could be patient when necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Want me to fill that up?” James asked as Q knocked back the last of his tea like it was a shot and not still scalding liquid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q wiped his mouth on a tattered sleeve as he nodded eagerly, holding out the mug to James. The hem of the sleeve rid up a bit, exposing one delicate and thin wrist in the process. Mentally James noted to bring back some biscuits along with the tea. He clearly needed to eat more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walked back to the kitchen, he heard a gentle thud behind him followed by the almost imperceptible sound of cat footsteps on the tiled floor. Gizmo was hopping along behind him, either curious or also feeling a bit peckish, James wasn’t sure. Even so, he didn’t mind the small company as he dug through his pantry for a can of tuna he swore he had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can she have canned fish?” he called out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes! She loves it, thank you,” Q answered promptly. His voice still echoed from where the couch was, not daring to move about anymore it seemed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With more gusto than was probably necessary for a cat, James presented the small can of tuna as if it were a masterful creation from a Michelin star restaurant. Daintily, she settled back on her one hind leg and offered him one slow blink before hunkering down to her dish. James chuckled as he watched her, noticing that her sweater seemed in better repair than Q’s. Clearly he had his priorities.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I safe in assuming that you are the master behind her evening wear?” James asked as he reentered the living room, mug and plate of biscuits in his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q seemed to blush, ducking his blushing face into the folds of his sweatshirt hood, “Indeed. Patterns and repetition...I like them. That’s mostly how knitting is. Plus, she chills easily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you don’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q shrugged, rubbing his thumbs against the sides of his mug in a soothing motion. He was casting glances over to the covered windows, as if trying to see the snow beyond it, “I’m always cold no matter what I’m wearing,” he said softly, seeming unaware that he’d said anything at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sent a pang through his heart, the words resonated deeply with him. An echo of his many brooding sessions the last several months. Perhaps even several years if he wanted to have a true moment of honesty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James set aside his half drunken tumbler and leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he tried to meet Q’s eyes. His gaze was a fleeting, shifty thing, but James knew how to draw in people like moths to his flame. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q. Can you tell me what brought you here tonight? What did you learn?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Any lax muscle in that skinny body turned taut at the mention, and he began to gnaw nervously at his bottom lip. His hand dropped down to where the laptop bag was, reaching in and pulling out a worn out looking thing that wore stickers like some wore tattoos. James had to force himself not to react to the sudden appearance of what was possibly Q’s greatest weapon, but he managed at least to keep his expression soft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s fingers danced across the keys like it was a grand piano, never seeming to miss a beat or hesitate on the next stroke. It was the first time that James saw his hands doing something that didn’t involve some kind of nervous tick, and it was incredible the confidence that he seemed to hold digging around in his little cyber world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are several possible indicators that I have been following that usually signal an upcoming attack. They start off popping up in different systems, different places, and linger there for a while. It isn’t until they appear with more frequency that I can start getting a grasp on the next possible target. Usually I am still looking at dozens of possibilities within a single range, when the indicators will suddenly be activated, and by then there are only hours at most to even try to do anything,” Q said, voice as clipped as his fingers against keys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gizmo appeared, hopping back up onto the couch next to her master and flopping contently into his lap. He barely seemed to notice beyond adjusting his legs slightly to let her all but ooze into a bagel shape and tuck her nose into her belly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James stood slowly, making his way around the coffee table until he was next to Q looking down at the screen. Several windows were open, some running lines of code he couldn’t decipher, while others were open and quickly filling with text that Q was producing. James couldn't make heads or tails of it all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What am I looking at here?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q paused and pointed to one box of running code, “This is working off of a remote server I have. The function of it is to chase down the indicators and relay them back to me, well, this laptop. It started sending me pings earlier today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meaning another attack is coming,” James said, running his hand over his now weary features. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slight shoulder slumped, “Correct,” Q said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you can’t tell from where yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q scrunched up his nose, leaning in closer to the screen as if it would read better from inches away, “No. I’ve got a separate server dedicated to sorting through the data. It can usually have the pings sorted into regions after a few hours. The regions are sometimes as large as several kilometers, or as small as a single street. After that, it can be days, or weeks before they activate and I know which system is the next target.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel the frustration building in his sternum, the lack of immediate action making his blood boil restlessly under his skin. It was probably showing a bit going off of the way Q began to nervously pet Gizmo again, his body leaning away from the agent ever so slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to once again force himself to relax, hiding his clenched fists in his pockets where Q couldn’t see his whitened knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get comfortable then Q. I want those regions.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Hours passed by like molasses pouring out of a jar. James took up pacing only a few hours in, his caged lion impression causing nothing but distress to the other occupants of his flat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right then. The little windows of code continued to fly by at a rapid pace, moving even faster now at Q’s urging new algorithms. It didn’t feel fast enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The most exciting thing to happen was when the dryer finished and Q made a big deal about putting his own clothes back on immediately, handing a purring and sleep drunk cat over to James as he moved to change in the bathroom. The boy was quirky enough, going from timid mouse and then to bossy and hissing cat as easy as one would flip a coin. Certainly kept James on his toes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was plenty enough to deal with as it was, but Q also had to be a bleeding genius too going off of everything he was seeing. While his knowledge of technology at this level was rudimentary at best, even he could recognize brilliance when he saw it. The ease in which Q popped in and out of different mainframes was startling, like he was doing no more than walking through a slightly inconvenient door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This wasn’t James’ area. This was Q-Branch rubbish, Boothroyd’s territory. Or it would have been if the old man hadn’t been killed in that blast. Only James couldn’t drag Q in there just yet, not when MI5 would have him strung up in some basement before he could help them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything yet?” James growled for what felt like the tenth time that hour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard Q sigh wearily from where he was still working at his laptop despite it almost being sunrise by that point, “Honestly, all the patience of a two year old,” he muttered, “I will tell you when I have something, but until then you need to wait. I promise you I want to help, but I can’t give you information I don’t have yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James took a moment to pause in his pacing to look over at the couch. Both occupants had moved to the floor after a while, working at the short table in favor of Q having to bend awkwardly over his cat to reach his laptop. While she was snoozing happily, Q was looking haggard and pale. His mug was empty, but only half the plate of biscuits was gone from when he absently nibbled on a few hours earlier. Namely, only the ones that had chocolate in them. He wouldn’t even begin to contemplate the suddenly nearly empty sugar bowl he’d brought for another round of tea. It seemed his little fish had a sweet tooth of epic proportions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His tired appearance only reminded James that he also had not slept a wink that night, and he let himself fall heavily into the armchair across from Q. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rubbed his fingers against his closed eyes until he saw stars, “Tell me what these indicators are and what happens when they activate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s head remained focused on his screen as he replied, “Bits of signature coding that gets delivered by a virus. They get circulated into various systems, like a biochemical weapon for computers. They stay there, inert, but I can trace them even then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And when they activate?” James prompted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s hands shook for a moment before he resumed his typing, “Then whoever is planting the code is capable of using the access to cause chaos.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chaos as in…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Explosions. Of the cataclysmic variety.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James felt his jaw twitch, “Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning back to his typing, James took a moment to look over his house guest again. For the life of him, he could not figure out what it was about this strange young man that was forcing James to confront feeling human again, to holding sympathy where there should be judgement. If it were anyone else, James would have slammed the door in the face of anyone who dared bring their pet into his sterile flat, dripping on his floors while doing so. Or really, if it were anyone else he would have drug them by the scruff of his neck, bloodied and beaten and gladly dumped them into the clumsy arms of MI5. Perhaps it was just Gizmo and her regal demeanor that was growing on James. It wasn’t everyone who could pull off the knit sweater look so daintily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you going to do with the regions once I have them?” Q asked, breaking the silence of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James took another sip of his drink as he thought about it, “I may ask around Q-Branch to see if there have been any whispers about anything within those regions from our other sources. Perhaps that may offer us a few of the potential obvious targets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s face fell a bit, “Oh. Well you’re welcome to try, but so far even with weeks of digging I haven’t been able to discern any real evidence to suggest we can narrow it down at all. Almost like the final choice is random and based on a roll of the dice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think you are better at intel sifting than an entire branch of people who dedicate their lives to such things?” James shot back with a raised brow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve certainly come a lot closer than them thus far. They probably don’t even know for sure a fourth attack is coming,” he said as he continued to type.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fourth? I thought there’s only been two so far.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s head popped up for a moment from behind the screen, “Oh, no there have been three so far. The one from last week, the Gallery before that, and then the Vauxhall one almost two months ago now,” and he ducked back into his work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across from him though, James froze, his fingers clenching around his glass. His guest remained oblivious to the sudden and thunderous aura that was now pouring out from the agent as he tried to rein in his shock and anger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Vauxhall explosion was caused by a gas leak,” James tried to say, although the words were sharp, hissed through his clenched teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, a gas leak caused by the codes I told you about. They granted access to someone to let them play with your environmental controls like a toy,” Q mumbled, eyes still on his screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, James stood up, his muscles coiling like a snake about to strike. He stared down at the little boffin, assessing in a new light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And tell me, Q. Did you see these indicators activate several hours before like the others?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Q did look up, his body flinching back when he took in the sight of James looming over him, “I, um, well yes. Two hours between activation and detonation,” he said nervously, slowly lowering the lid of his laptop and hugging it to his chest like a shield. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James took a step closer, his voice as frigid as the air outside, “I don’t recall anyone mentioning a sighting of a small madman trying to get us to evacuate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q swallowed hard, scooting back a bit to put space back between them, “I--I didn’t go to warn them in person. I tried an email, but...and there were cameras--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck the cameras, Q! People died and you did nothing? Do you even know who ended up getting killed?!” James roared, sending Q scrambling back away from him, clutching his cat and laptop close to his rapidly moving chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry! I know people died, I tried, I...I didn’t know the code would be used that way, I swear! I didn't know they were trying to kill anyone,” he cried, his green eyes welling up. James didn’t care if it was out of guilt or fear, he was too consumed by his rage at knowing that there may have been a way to save M, but it was squandered by someone he had been pitying all along.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Q’s rambling was cut off when James couldn’t hold back his anger anymore, the agent took the glass in his hand and threw it across the room letting it shatter against the wall somewhere to the left of Q.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James regretted the action as soon as it left his fingers, his keen gaze catching the look of fear over Q’s thin features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boffin cried out in terror, ducking over the precious things he held. No glass shards had reached him, James didn’t aim for him after all, but it was too late to deescalate the situation. Q was scrambling for the door before the last shard hit the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Q, wait!” James called out, but his little fish was as fast as he was slippery, and he was flinging himself out of the flat before James even made it across the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he made it to the hallway, the last thing he glimpsed was the doors of the elevator shutting between them, with Q’s pale face disappearing behind the doors. Cursing loudly, James darted over to the stairwell, only to hear the click of it locking just as he reached for the bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He must have set this place to lock up in an emergency</span>
  </em>
  <span>, James thought bitterly to himself. His suspicions were only confirmed when he attempted the elevator again only to find a blinking light telling him it was out of service. He quickly put in a call with the building maintenance to get everything unlocked and began pulling up the building cameras only to show empty hallways on a loop when he checked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had made it past a trained agent and locked him on his own floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He circled back to his flat quickly as he waited for when he could get downstairs, tossing on his coat and boots, grabbing his gun, wallet and keys, all of the items out of habit rather than necessity, only pausing when he noticed that Q’s jacket, scarf and hat were still hung neatly on the hooks by the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All anger that hadn’t gone away by that point dissipated like warm breath in cold air as he stared at the items that were left behind because he had scared Q to the point of absolute terror. As an assassin, there was very little that disgusted him, but thinking about how he had acted towards Q...James truly felt disgusted with himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took almost half an hour before things were unlocked and functioning well enough that James made it down to the ground floor. There weren’t even snowy footprints to follow, the wind wiping them clean in minutes. There was nothing for James to follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t stop him though. There was still one place he knew to check, and he immediately started towards the direction of the bridge and the small lair hidden beneath it. Snowy weather be damned, he would walk the whole way there. Q had done it already before while carrying a cat, James could certainly do it too carrying an extra jacket and such tucked under his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if James was near frantic with worry that he’d stumble across a frozen body in the snow, well he’d try to keep that to himself for now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did make it to the bridge though, no sighting of anyone else stupid enough to be out in this weather, and he even made it down to the lair door without losing his balls to the cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was nobody on the other side though. No cat. No Q. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James sat and waited, but they never came back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually he walked back to his flat again, half in punishment and half in desperation to find some sign of his lost charge having found a roof to shelter under. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>James didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tsk tsk, James. Scaring Q like that :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Guilt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>James tries to find Q and apologize.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another quick drop! Enjoy!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Guilt was about as familiar as an old lifetime friend to James, or perhaps nemesis was a better word. It ate away at him like acid for years, making him think of all the ways he could have possibly changed some horrible outcome or another. How he could have saved Tracy. How he should have realized what was going on with Vesper. What kind of difference it might have made if he were in the country when HQ was destroyed. And now he was front row for replays of all the ways he fucked up with Q and how he had lost control, resulting in Q darting off to god knows where in nothing but a natty sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James didn’t even let himself think of Gizmo. The self hatred was bad enough as it was, he didn’t think a complete mental breakdown would help anyone at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snowstorm had continued late into the next day, leaving large drifts of snow piled up on the streets and up against buildings. James spent it all alternating between staring out his window and at the news reports playing, wondering if he would catch wind of anyone found out in the cold. As much as he was relieved that he didn’t hear anything, it did nothing to ease his fears concerning the young man he’d lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the second night rolled around with no sign of Q, James couldn’t stand sitting idle any longer. He’d packed up a bag of items from his flat, picked up a few more from a nearby shop, and went back out into the cold, hissing when the slush soaked into his shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lair remained as empty and cold as it was when he’d checked before. There was no sign of Q ever coming back, not even a shift in the rumpled sheets on the mattress. Dread that had been pooling in his belly was now beginning to boil into a full blown panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as he began to plan his next course of action, James still took the time to unpack his bag of items onto the desk. Several boxes of tea. A large bag of sugar. A very warm jacket he had in his closet along with the abandoned hat and scarf from before. Some canned soup. Cat food and catnip. And a few rolls of painfully colorful yarn stacked carefully on top of the rest of the hoard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing James did before he left was to pen up a note for Q, apologizing and asking him to please contact him so he can know he’s alright. It didn’t feel like enough, but James didn’t know what else he could say or do to make Q trust him again after scaring him so badly with his temper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now though, two days later, James had still heard nothing and was about ready to pull out his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James glanced up at the cupboard that housed his liquor, the desire to drink himself silly had not gone away, but he forced himself to resist. It was a bit of a punishment for him even though it was actually a good thing. He was already taking medication for his knee, his liver hardly needed any more strain on top of that by adding black out quantities of alcohol to dull his guilty conscience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been no further attacks, but Q had said that it could take days or weeks to get there anyway. It didn’t ease any of the pressure James felt to find the culprits, but it at least allowed him to breath around the vice tightening around his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had at least found a way to hint to some Q-Branch personnel to be on the lookout hints of another upcoming explosion, starting subtly because if MI5 found out then it would become even more of a circus between the clowns attempting to sort the whole mess out. M was probably in the loop by now and was working to keep it all hushed until such a suspicion could be confirmed. Fine by James. The agent just wasn’t sure if they would be capable of finding the link between them at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, for that they would need input from one very talented and missing boffin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missing was the word that James was using in his mental musings, because dead was too final a word in his opinion. After all, how many times had he been listed as that only to show up again mere days later?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with his denial filled vocabulary choices, James couldn’t shake the fear over what could have become of the young man and his smaller companion. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps I should go down to the bridge again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought to himself, but quickly squashed the idea. Q had that entire area under surveillance and would see James coming from blocks away. For all he knew, Q wasn’t going back there </span>
  <em>
    <span>because</span>
  </em>
  <span> he saw James approach it twice already. Q would be without shelter because James didn’t know well enough to stay away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the alarming image of Q deathly ill while trying to rest on that old mattress on the floor was one he could not shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James pulled out his work phone and dialed the only number he would trust with a task like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only rang twice before Moneypenny’s chipper voice came up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bond, to what do I owe the honor?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she asked slyly. He could practically hear her feline smile over the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calling in a favor,” he replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now, James. Do you ever have any intention of repaying these favors you keep asking for? You still haven’t even told me why I had to send flowers to a bakery in the middle of Milan.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>James’ lips twitched into a half smile at the memory. The head baker had been furious, but at least James knew now that flour bags were excellent weapons when dropped from above. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cash in one of your well deserved favors and see it done, Ms. Moneypenny. Perhaps flowers for your office as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted indelicately,</span>
  <em>
    <span> “And have to listen to M sneeze and blow his nose all day from the next room over? Hardly. I accept payments in food and gossip and the occasional concert ticket. Tell me this favor and I’ll tell you what kind of chocolate I want next time you are called into HQ.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done,” James replied quickly, not one to question an easy favor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the metallic squeak of her chair as she leaned back, no doubt preparing herself for whatever task she was about to receive. Always ready. Good old Moneypenny. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lay it on me, James. You have five minutes before I’m needed to take notes for a budget meeting.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>James cleared his throat, his fingers fiddling with a loose chip of paint on the wall. The last bit of evidence from his momentary lack of decency and brains, “I need you to check all hospitals and morgues for anyone who fits the description I’m about to text over to you. It needs to be done with a bit of stealth though, if you please. He doesn’t want to be found by the authorities and we should keep it that way. Involve as few people as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, a concerned friend trying to track down her roommate who went missing then?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>James grimaced, “I won’t be able to offer a name,” he said as he quickly sent over the detailed description he had for Q. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, I see. A bit more of a challenge, but I’m sure I’ll find a way. This description is specific enough that I may be able to do it from open medical records alone. A cat though? What’s that got to do with anything?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He may have asked for it, or been found with one on his...body,” he said, cursing continually through the long pause that followed his slip. Moneypenny was shrewd enough to see through his small hiccup when mentioning a body. The knowing silence she left dangling was judgement enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I see. Well, I’ll get right on this. Since it’s all hush hush, I’m guessing you want all findings to go straight to you and not breathe a word to anyone?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know me too well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Isn’t that the truth,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she chuckled, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll see if I can find your friend. Shouldn’t take long. Not the first time I’ve had Q-Branch pull medical records for me, oddly enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re perfect, Eve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And don’t you forget it. Also, don’t you forget the chocolate. I’ll send you my required payment soon.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>James hung up, still staring at the wall where he had worried the chip of paint enough that even more began to crumble away. He’d punched his fists through drywall plenty of times before, but none of those instances made him feel as shitty then as he did now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing he was in for a bit of a wait, he heavily dropped himself down onto the couch that still had small little orange and white hairs one the cushions. Funny enough, he didn’t even care.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The search had turned up nothing, which James was very determined to take as good news. That meant nobody had found someone half frozen after the storm to the hospital, and no unidentified body had shown up either. Short of falling into the Thames, he would have been found by now if he wasn’t inside somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James just hoped that his imaginings of a sick and bedridden Q were baseless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But like an old scab that was better left alone, James could not seem to stop his feet from taking him down the now far too familiar streets that would lead him down to the bridge. The only thing that got him to pause before he reached the electrical box façade was the thought that he wanted to bring that same moment of bliss to Q’s face again, in an awkward sort of apology. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ducking into the small café he’d followed Q into ages ago, James was ready to buy a tote full of those turkey sandwiches and a gallon at least of the tea he had nearly inhaled when he stopped short on top of the welcome mat, unable to keep his mouth from falling open as he took in the lithe figure waiting at the pick up counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James blinked dumbly, awestruck that after all his worries, the focus of his guilt was standing right there looking tired, but alive...and very eager to get his treat. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t fuck this up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought to himself bitterly, easing his way further inside. This was a public place, after all. Making a scene would be the last thing either of them wanted. The café was quite small and only held a handful of other patrons, but it was a risk neither of them would want to take. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hundred different greetings ran through his mind as he slowly stepped up behind Q, all of them sounding worse than the last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sorry I scared the shit out of you?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sorry I didn’t have better quality tuna for your cat?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sorry I made you believe that running outside in a blizzard without a coat was safer than staying near me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much for being a smooth and suave agent. This is what emotions did to James it seemed, turned him into an idiot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood only half a step behind Q, close enough to see the wisps of curls peeking out from under the edges of the same knit hat from before. That’s when James broke from his stupor long enough to realize that Q was actually wearing the new coat he’d left for him at his lair too. He’d actually gone back it seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James was still trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make Q flee in panic when he stepped up to the counter to grab a carrier for two drinks and a small bag. He had turned around with his purchases and spotted James before he’d settled on anything really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All that slipped from the agent’s mouth as he took in Q’s pale features was a very un-suave, and slightly pitiful, “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oddly enough, Q didn’t look surprised at all to see James, nor was he put off by the lackluster apology. He shrugged one single shoulder, not meeting James’ eyes, and pulled the second cup out to hand over to the agent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheers. If you’d be kind enough to follow me, I believe we have some things to discuss,” he said with no malice, but a tired acceptance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And James followed.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Q led them down a different set of streets, going off into a part of London that even James was at a loss in. A few times Q had them cut through a few alleys, or ducking past several CCTVs, but he wasn’t anxious about it. Like it was second nature to take a route that would end up being three times as long to arrive, just because it was sheltered. His feet were sure and confident on the slushy ground, even if his expression remained one of immense unease in the presence of the agent by his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking side by side, James noted that they were almost the same height, but he still shrunk in his broad shoulders a bit and ducked his chin in an effort to appear less of a threat to the smaller man beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q looked exhausted, the dark marks under his eyes looking more like poorly placed eye shadow than anything natural, but at least he didn’t look or sound like he was ready to hunker down into his deathbed. James would reflect later on why that made him so relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see no suspicious lumps in your coat,” James commented as they turned another block, “No Gizmo today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q fingered the lapels of the coat nervously, “Oh, no, not today. She doesn’t quite know her way around our new place, so I didn’t want to risk her wandering off and getting lost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New place? What about your lair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lair?” he asked, his nose scrunched up in distaste, “Is that what you think it is? That sounds practically villainous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your den, then? Burrow? Hobbit hole?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Q actually smiled, his breath huffing out in what could have possibly been a chuckle, “I just called it home, thanks, but I’ve had to move elsewhere. I couldn’t be sure I could trust you after that night so I took us to one of my back ups in the city. I don’t think you can call it a lair though, or any of those other ridiculous things. It’s actually in a building you see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A marked improvement</span>
  </em>
  <span>, James thought to himself, but didn’t want to insult Q by asking why the hell he didn’t just use that in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that where we are going now? You don’t have to show me, Q. We can go anywhere you feel safe. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to move again,” he said, watching the flicker of emotions dance across Q’s expressive eyes. Not even those large and heavy glasses could hide such depth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q looked at him for a moment before dropping his gaze back to the wet sidewalk under them, “I trust you more than anyone else right now. I checked MI6 and MI5 too, the files you have on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mystery man </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the bombings weren’t updated. You haven’t told anyone about me officially, even after I revealed certain facts to you. And I know you want this case solved. Especially now that you know about the, uh, first attack,” he said, glancing up nervously as if waiting for another violent act from James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The agent was careful to keep his face neutral, not wanting to spook Q into fleeing again, not when he’d just gotten him back. His traitorous emotions be damned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright, Q?” James asked, letting his genuine worry swell in his words, “You scared me a bit, running off like that without a coat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smaller man snorted into his cup, “Seemed only fair since you scared me first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’ grin was rueful, “We do seem to be inclined to keeping things leveled between us. I suppose that means I should be expecting a cup thrown at my head sometime in the future?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps, but only once I’ve finished my drink. Horrible waste to go throwing perfectly good tea around,” Q replied dryly, making James laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as James didn’t want to admit it, he was charmed by Q’s demeanor as much as his outer appearance. He was the perfect combination of interesting, intelligent, dangerous, and innocent. How he got caught up in all this was still beyond James, but he found that he didn’t really care all that much. His gut told him Q was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span> and his heart, curiously silent up until a few weeks ago, told him that James </span>
  <em>
    <span>cared</span>
  </em>
  <span> no matter what circumstances had brought them to this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How utterly aggravating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry too, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James glanced up at Q who had his face ducked low into the collar of his new jacket, “Sorry for what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For not doing more during the first attack,” he said, his voice coming out wrecked and ashamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Q, you don’t have to be sorry. MI6 should be able to take care of itself. It was our own weaknesses that let the attack happen, and even more damning was that we didn’t see the attack for what it was. I got angry because we missed a chance to save the lives of some very important people, not because you didn’t save them. You can’t take the blame for this,” James said, cautiously reaching out to grip Q’s bony shoulder. The young man flinched under the contact but did not pull away at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Q turned to look up at him, his large green eyes wide and red rimmed, he looked completely heartbroken. The raw emotion on his expressive face was sharp enough that James felt his heart beat painfully sharp as if stabbed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, I believe I can take the blame for all of this, but I want to make it right. I want to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let me take you to MI6 so you can show us your work. Let them help sort through the data,” James urged, “I promise we will protect you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q shook his head sadly, the black curls falling in a curtain over his glasses, “They can’t protect me, 007.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we can. We don’t have to tell MI5 shit if we don’t want to. The new M loathes them as much as we do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Q’s shoulder sagged under his hand, “It has nothing to do with MI5. I can’t go to MI6 because...they’re compromised, Bond. MI6 has traitors in its midst.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Up next we get a little more of Q's history, and Gizmo returns! Let me know your thoughts :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comment and tell me your thoughts!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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